Thanksgiving Dinner
by le faye storyteller
Summary: COMPLETE! Buffy's in the kitchen. Trying to cook. If that weren't bad enough, along comes Spike . . .
1. The Beginning

Hello, all you wonderful people who have come to see my story!

I know, it's weird of me to post something about Thanksgiving now, but the idea just came to me .

Disclaimer: Not mine. All characters belong to Joss and his group of brilliant evil t.v.-scientist, so, don't sue. Besides, what could you do with a whole, um . . .1 . . .2 . . 3 cents anyway?

Apologies if anyone thinks I stole ideas. I know this probably isn't most original (I'm too lazy for that), but it's all mine.

Setting: Not sure, maybe S5, but . . . Joyce is alive and healthy, Dawn is here, Riley is not, all the Scoobies are here and happy, and Spike has been chipped, but he is living alone, and he and Buffy can tolerate each other (and he's friends with Dawn). In other words, it's gonna be a happy, angst-less fic, so deal.

Oh, and assume that Spike has his DeSoto (not sure when he actually gets it, I haven't have the chance to see all the episodes yet)

Summary: Buffy's in the kitchen. Trying to cook. If that weren't bad enough, Spike comes along . . .

Just a fun pointless story to cheer everyone up (figured y'all would need that seeing that it's back to school).

Rating: PG. maybe some naughty words, but nothing bad.

Distribution: I'd be surprised, but if you want it, take it. Just tell me first.

Reviews: Leave one, leave two, leave flames, leave praise. Heck, I'm open to anything!

And on with the show . . .

* * *

_That is the ugliest and evilest _thing_ I have ever seen_, she thought with dismay. _I'd take an apocalypse over this any day. This is foul, and awful, and ugghh . . ._

The being in question looked gray, mutated, and lumpy; it felt cold and slimy, and it smelled . . . no, wait . . . she didn't want to think about that.

The thought of coming in close contact with it made her feel nauseous, but she sighed bravely and, stretching out her hand, she prepared herself for the inevitable . . .

Buffy groaned as she retracted her hands and glowered at the frozen turkey that currently inhabited her freezer. _Aaahhhh!_ She mentally screamed. _Mom must have wanted to punish me for something when she decided to go on a business trip and leaving me to cook Thanksgiving dinner._

With another exaggerated groan, Buffy squeezed her eyes half shut, and, once again, reached slowly into the freezer to take out the turkey. Holding it at arms-length with the tips of her fingers, she rushed to deposit it onto the counter as fast as she could. But, apparently, she wasn't fast enough. All of a sudden, the elusive turkey somehow slipped out of her hands, and shot up into the air.

Buffy watched with wide-eyed horror, as the much-hated poultry seemed to sail over the island counter in slow motion, and towards the back door. Flying with enough accuracy and speed to make any of it's live relatives proud, the turkey continued towards it's target when suddenly, the door flew open, and in rushed Spike with a smoldering blanket over his head. Relieved to have made it into the house without being dusted, the vampire threw off the cover, and turned around . . . just in time to catch the frozen turkey that was aimed at his head.

Shocked into silence by being assailed by poultry, Spike stood as still as a statue, jaw dropped in surprise.

If Buffy had taken the time to look, she would've found the image of the former Big Bad, holding a turkey with his mouth gaping open to be funny. But she was too relieved by the saving of her dinner, and had already become preoccupied once she realized that the turkey was safe.

Bustling around the kitchen, Buffy began to search for more ingredients needed to make her meal. "Put that on the counter, will you, Spike?" she commanded absently.

Abruptly, Buffy stopped her search mid-step to consider what she just said. She turned around slowly. "Spike, what the hell are you doing here?" she demanded.

By this time the vampire had recovered sufficiently enough to have set the turkey down and collect himself. "'Ey! Is tha' anyway to greet someone who jus' saved your flying chicken 'ere, Slayer?" he demanded indignantly.

Buffy continued to glare at him, unmoved by his complaint.

Spike rolled his eyes and sighed. "Bit tol' me to come," he stated simply. "She said that 'ere was som'thin' 'portant that the lot of ya needed help with, so I promised her I'd be 'ere."

Buffy continued to stare at him, the information just given to her being too much for her to comprehend right now.

After of few moments, Spike broke the silence by continuing, "So . . . what great evil needs ta be fought off now, pet?"

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Buffy replied slowly, "No, no demon-y kinds of evil. Wait, I'm gonna . . . get Dawn."

With that, she walked to the staircase and, in a loud yell that made Spike wince, called up to her sister, "DAWN!" (this was followed immediately by the unmistakable thump of something landing hard on the floor) "COME DOWN HERE, RIGHT NOW!"

Moments later, the young teenager stumbled down the stairs, one had firmly gripping the hand rail to keep from falling over, and the other rubbing tiredly at her eyes. "Buffy," she whined, walking into the kitchen. "why'd you wake me up so early? You made me fall out of bed."

"Dawn, it's past 11," Buffy said, exasperated.

"It's a holiday. Anytime before 12 is early on a holiday," retorted Dawn.

"Ah-em," Spike cleared his throat, catching the attention of both Summers girls. "Hate ta interrupt this sisterly argument, but can an'one _please _explain ta me what the bloody heck I'm doin' here?"

Both vampire and Slayer turned to stare expectantly at the teenager.

"Oh. 's that why you called me down, Buff?" Turning to the vampire, Dawn said, "Spike, Buffy needs you help." Once again facing both of them, she continued, "and if that's all, I'm going back to bed."

The girl turned to go back to the stairs, but Spike stopped her.

"Whoa, wait a minute, Nibblet," she said. "What d'you mean she needs my help?"

"Buff, you're cooking Thanksgiving dinner today, right?" Dawn asked.

"Yeaahh," Buffy said slowly. "So?"

"So, you, plus kitchen with all the sharp knives, hot stoves, and flammable things equals one great, big ka-boomy. So, someone's gotta help you, and since everyone else is probably busy, I asked Spike," Dawn explained.

"Hey! Have a little faith, will you?" Buffy said, upset. "I can cook! And I know how to handle a knife!"

At the same time Spike exclaimed, "I bloody well _do _have a unlife, Bit. I have things I have ta do, and unlike your older sis here, I'm not in denial, and I know _I_ can't cook for bloody beans!"

Dawn waited both of them out, and when it seemed like they going to stay quiet, she said, "Buffy, the only time that you've ever used a knife is when you needed to kill some demon thingy. Besides, what can you cook --"

"I can make plenty of things!" Buffy interrupted, sputtering indignantly.

"Like what?" Dawn shot back with a raised eyebrow.

"Well – well —I can't think of anything off the top of my head, but I can . . ." she trailed off, trying to remember the last time she was in she kitchen making something.

"Spike," Dawn addressed him, "you're a vampire! All you do in the daytime is sit in your crypt and watch soap operas. I know that for a fact! Don't think I haven't seen you!"

"Hey!" protested the vampire.

Buffy snickered, discretely covering her mouth with her hand.

"And," the teenager went on, "you can cook. You made me scrambled eggs and French toast once, remember?"

"Yeah," Spike muttered reluctantly.

"Buffy, mom expects you to cook dinner for everyone tonight, and since you can't do that by yourself, Spike's gonna help you – ah, no excuses!" Dawn said as both were beginning to open their mouths to complain again.

"So, the two of you, play nice together and don't kill each other. I want a couple more hours of sleep." With that, Dawn turned and headed back up the stairs.

There was silence in the house as the enemies regarded each other.

Then: "Y'know, sometimes, I think the Bit's older and wiser than all of us."

Buffy snorted. "_Everyone_ would be smarter than you, Spike. But hey, she right, I do need help with the cooking. So, come on."

"Hold on, Slayer. You just insulted me, and you still think I'm gon' ta help you?" Spike expected to see her beg, but instead, Buffy lower lip slid out in a pout, and he felt his resolve weakening.

"Please," she said. "At least do it for Dawnie. Think of how disappointed she'll be when --"

"Alright," Spike snapped. "Bloody 'ell, Slayer. It only a meal, not soddin' Christmas."

He continued to grumble under his breath while Buffy smiled.

"Great!" she said enthusiastically. "Now, come on!" She grabbed her purse and prepared to go out.

"Where're we goin', pet?" Spike asked with growing dread. "I thought we were cookin' 'ere."

"We are, but I don't have any ingredients except for the turkey and that needs to be defrosted anyways," Buffy answered. "So we're going to the supermarket."

"Bloody 'ell," Spike cursed under his breath as he threw the much abused blanket over his head once again.

"We can take your car," Buffy continued, unaware of the vampire's discomfort.

Spike threw the back door open, and made a mad dash for the shade of the trees, desperately trying to make his way to the sewer system and then to his car unharmed.

Buffy followed at a slightly slower pace, thinking wryly that today was going to be _interesting_, at the least . . .

* * *

TBC

Like . . . hate? Go ahead and press that wonderful little button in that corner. Come on, you know you want to. . .

Sorry for mistakes. If there are any, please point them out. And, are my people out of character?

'Til next time!

le faye


	2. The Shopping

Thanks loads to those who reviewed! You girls (and guys) are great!

**o** (the happy face): Yay! You were my first review for this story. Glad you like!

**Cady Monroe**: I'll try not to spell out Spike's talking as much in the next chapters, but it's something I like to do. Thanks for pointing that out, though.

**Nokia**: The whole reason why I wrote this story is so that I could make people laugh. I'm happy I could do that.

**Jobe**: Sorry to disappoint if you think that there's going to be any Spuffiness. I wrote this purely for laughs.

**Gigil3**: Thanks for saving me from that major mistake (smiles wide in appreciation )! I don't celebrate Thanksgiving and I don't have a beta, so I didn't catch that. It's all fixed now.

**Bridge**: Great that you like it and that you want me to continue. Thanks!

For summary, disclaimers, ratings, etc. see chapter one.

In celebration of my going back to school date (wwwwhhhhhhaaaaaaaaa! I don't wanna!) here's the next chapter . . .

* * *

Surprisingly, the hero and heroine of our story made it to the supermarket safely, with no major incidents on the way there. But once they arrived, it was a whole different story . . .

"Come _on_, Spike! The whole reason why we came here is so that we could go _inside_ and get the things we need!"

Both vamp and Slayer were standing outside of the local supermarket, safely under the shade of the building, while the former tried to convince the latter to enter the store.

"Nuh-uh. I'm not goin' and you can't make me!" Spike said, sounding remarkably like a 4-year-old.

"Come _on_!" Buffy pleaded, tugging on the blonde vamp's hand. "It's not like you've never been in a supermarket!"

Her eyes grew wide as Spike suddenly fell silent.

"Oh, my god! You've never been in a supermarket!"

"'S not like I ever needed to. I'm a bloody vampire!" By this point, Spike was practically screaming with frustration.

Buffy glared at him, wildly waving her hands, and hissed in a stage whisper, "Could you say that any louder! I don't think the people inside quite heard you."

Spike lowered his voice. "Look, Slayer, I'm an evil Master Vamp for bleedin' sake, I've still got somethin' of a reputation to protect!"

Buffy looked thoroughly frustrated. "Correction, Spike, you were the _former_ Big Bad. And if you're not willing to go in, how many other demons would be in there to see you, anyways? Now, come _on_!"

With one final sharp tug, Buffy managed to make Spike lose his balance, thus successfully pulling both of them into the store. But once recovered, the petite blonde suddenly realized that she had forgotten their shopping cart. Groaning her hundredth antagonized groan since the beginning of the day, she threw a quick glare at Spike – commanding him to stay on pain of death – and stalked back outside to wrestle with the impossible metal carts.

After a full ten minutes of fighting shopping carts and having to retrieve Spike multiple times as he tried to sneak away . . .

"Ugghhh! I knew I should have made a grocery list! This is so hard!"

"What could be so bloody difficult 'bout this, Slayer?" Spike asked as they wandered the produce section. "Pick up a couple of veggies and let's go!"

"No! Spike! It's tradition to have certain things for Thanksgiving every year. I can't just grab random things and go!"

Spike started to rolled his eyes, but halted abruptly as Buffy threw him a deathly glower.

"Fine. What _certain things_ do you need, luv?"

"Umm . . . I'm don't exactly remember," Buffy admitted reluctantly, biting her lower lip.

"How can you not remember! You've had Thanksgiving with your mum every year for, what, a good two decades!"

By this point, our main characters are going to die of frustration before they even finish their shopping.

"Shhh, Spike! Let me think! Umm . . . we've got the turkey . . . umm . . . oh! Oh! Peas!"

"Come again, pet?" Spike asked with furrowed eyebrows, anger forgotten.

"Peas! We always have a bowl of green peas! And mashed potatoes!" Buffy grew happy with her success as she began to remember.

"And look, we're in the perfect place to start," she added, glancing around at the rest of the produce section. "Come on. Let's go see potatoes."

At the potato display . . .

_This shopping trip is beginning to seem like an emotional roller coaster_, thought the Slayer.

Upon finding the potatoes, which had taken at least 5 minutes (Buffy swore that the market had to be the size of a small country), both blondes had realized that getting potatoes would not be as simple in practice as in theory, and their spirits and immediately plunged.

"What do people need so many potatoes for?" Buffy half-screamed in aggravation. She gaped at the display of potatoes as she read their names in her head. _Russet gold. White. Idaho. Irish. Sweet. Yams. What's the difference!_

Spike, on the other hand, had already grown resigned to the fact that that this expedition would be more difficult then either one of them had originally thought. So it wasn't as great a surprise to him when he saw the massive amounts of potatoes.

With a shake of his head, the bleached-blonde vamp strode forward and randomly grabbed a couple of taters.

As he set them in the cart and began to walk away, Buffy finally woke from her stupor and noticed that the vamp was leaving. She rushed to stop him.

"What do you think your doing, Spike! You can't just take _any_ type of potato!" she said frantically.

"D'you have a better soddin' idea, Slayer?" Spike growled quietly. "Besides, what does it matter? The 'tatoes are goin' to be mashed anyway. Then you can't even tell what they are!"

"Fine," Buffy said with yet another death glare. "But at least get a plastic bag for them. And are they supposed to be this dirty?"

"They're potatoes, luv. They grow underground. 'Course they're dirty. Now, look, there are the bags. I'll go get a couple while you try to find the peas."

Buffy pushed the cart away resignedly as Spike headed towards the plastic bags.

And more minutes later . . .

The Master Vamp, Scourge of Europe, killer of hoards of hundreds had finally met his match.

Spike quickly realized that having vampiric strength does nothing to help one in one's quest to open a plastic bag.

After all this time, he had been able to split a total of zero bags, but he _had_ managed to tear almost a dozen into shreds. Ready to give up, he began turned away, but he stopped as he noticed a little old lady walk by. He watched, slightly curious to see what she would do.

Approaching the roll of plastic, the elderly woman tore off a bag, and with a brisk rub and quick flick of her wrist, opened it successfully and hobbled away. Staring incredulously, Spike huffed angrily and decided to just take a couple bags unopened, and see how much luck the Slayer was having . . .

_They knew I was coming and they're hiding from me on purpose_, Buffy thought in despair.

She had been through the produce section a total of five times, and had yet to unearth any green peas. Lifting her head up from where she had been resting it in her hands, she saw Spike stalk towards her.

"There's not a single bloodybuggered way to open these impossible freakin' bags!" Spike said by way of greeting.

"Aww, did wittle Spiky have twouble opening the wittle plastic bags?" Buffy laughed.

"Shut up, Slayer," growled Spike. "Besides, you didn't find what you were lookin' for, either."

Buffy stopped and grew serious. "There are no peas in this whole supermarket. In fact, they might not even exist anymore."

"Oh, yeah?" smirked Spike. "Go ask a clerk."

"Fine, I will." Buffy flounced off, determined to prove Spike wrong . . .

. . . which, to her complete chagrin, she didn't managed to do.

"Peas are located in the frozen aisle," explained the matronly clerk Buffy found. "Just head down that way."

"Thanks," Buffy forced a smile, as Spike hovered, grinning. But then her mood suddenly lightened.

"Oh, and I'm sorry, but could you please open this bag for us? _Spike_ here can't seem to manage it." She smiled sweetly, and it became Spike's turn to glare at her.

"Not a problem," answered the clerk as she handed back the bag. "You know this is so sweet. The two of you remind me of my husband and me the first time we went grocery shopping after we got married. Don't worry, you get used to doing this after a while."

With another friendly smile, the clerk walked off.

"Wait, we – we're not--" Buffy belatedly tried to correct her.

Spike touched her shoulder. "Let it go, Slayer. You got what you needed," he said, barely containing a laugh.

"Easy for you to say," Buffy grumbled quietly. "You didn't just get married to a annoying vampire."

"The annoying vampire has extremely good hearing, pet," Spike said as he walk off. "Come on."

After getting a bag of frozen peas (which, happily, there was only one kind to choose from), Buffy went through her mental checklist of things they had to get.

"Let's see . . .we need turkey stuffing, cranberries, dinner rolls, stuff to make apple pie --"

"Bloody 'ell, Slayer, is there absolutely no food left in your house?"

"Well, mom's been gone most of the week, and Dawn can practically live off chips and candy, so they didn't bother getting anything more for the week. Now, shut up and let me finish. As I was saying . . . Oh, right! . . . apple pie, and spices. We should split up so we can get the things faster."

Upon hearing this last comment, Spikes eyes widened in horror and he grabbed onto Buffy's arm – acting as if it were a lifeline.

"No! Slayer, you can't leave me by myself," Spike said as he searched desperately for an excuse. "I – I'll – I'll just botch everything up anyways."

Buffy's eyes twinkled in amusement. "What, are you scared of all the big mean housewives?" she teased.

"Ay! You've never been whacked by a granny's purse before. Ah, don't ask," he added as Buffy mouth opened to form another question.

"Fine. Let's go. We have to finish all of this and get home to cook it!"

It took them more than a good hour to get all the right things they needed. In this time, they had also managed to knock down several displays, dent the cart severely, and scare just about every person in the market with their lack of knowledge and (according to their fellow shoppers) rather psychotic behavior.

It was a battered and battle-weary pair that got in the never-ending line at the check stand. They waited there for what seemed like a century, and just as it was going to be their turn, the cashier put up a sign that said the stand was closed. Spike finally lost his patience.

Reaching across to grab the pimply young man by the collar, he growled," Look, you wanker, we have been in this market for a _very_ long time. Now, you _are_ going to ring us up right now, or else you're not going to live to see your break, got it?"

The cashier nodded furiously. It was the fastest he had ever worked. The boy who packed their food didn't even bother to ask of they wanted paper or plastic. He used both and had everything wrapped up in record time.

As they headed out, Buffy said, "Y'know, that wasn't very nice."

"'M a vampire, pet. What d'you expect? 'Sides, it got us out of there fast enough."

Amazingly, Buffy didn't argue.

On the way home . . .

"I've decided that shoppin' is hazardous to your health," Spike stated.

"Says the vamp that's scared of a supermarket."

"I bloody well was not scared."

"Oh, right, you were terrified."

"Was _not_!"

(mimicking Spike)"Oh, Buffy! Help! Save me from the horrible attacking Brussels sprouts."

"Brussels sprouts are evil, luv."

"Alright, I'll give you that. But still you were scared."

"Was not!"

"Was too!"

"Was not!"

"Was too!"

All the way home . . .

It would have been enough to drive the most patient of mothers crazy.

* * *

TBC

Feedback is loved and appreciated!

I hope you like this one! Tell me whether or not I should continue.

le faye


	3. The Cooking

So sorry for the wait. Unfortunately, real life got in the way. But I'm back!

**Mita427**: Cute things are good every once in while, right? Thanks for the encouragement.

**AnDrEwSrObOt**: Always nice to hear that you love it!

**Gigil3**: Good to know that you laughed. Thanks for the help and happiness!

**jobe**: Just wanted to make sure you knew so you didn't feel completely cheated at the end. It's nice to know that you still like, though.

**lilmisscookiemonster**: Hope you like this next chapter of Buffy and Spike waging war against home cooking.

**Digital Damita**: Glad you think Dawn sounds right. It's weird, even though Spike's British, I don't think I've ever heard him say brilliant.

**Jenikyula**: Here's the next chapter! Hope you really do love it!

* * *

If you were sitting in the Summers' kitchen at this very moment, you would have been treated to the sight of many, many paper bags walking in the back door on legs clad in leather pants. They would have been followed by a petite blonde girl, who was swinging her purse cheerfully, laughing at said bags. Or, rather, what was underneath those bags.

It would seem as if Buffy had found a way to keep Spike from being burn by the sun as they made the journey to her house. And that way just happened to include covering up every inch of his visible skin with paper bags. The bags just conveniently happened to be loaded with groceries.

And was it really Buffy's fault that it had taken every single one of those bags to make sure that none of the vampire's skin was showing?

"You're always sayin' you're the mighty, strong Slayer, pet. Don't you think ya could've helped a little?" Spike dumped all the food onto the counter with a relieved sigh.

"Well . . . I could've, but then you would have risked a dusting."

"Rubbish. You know that's just some pathetic excuse you threw me before you ran off, leavin' me with all the groceries," Spike said angrily.

"But that's why you're here today," Buffy said, innocently. "So you could help me."

"Right. _Help_ you, not be your soddin' manservant," he retorted, still not appeased. In fact, he looked as if he were ready to leave right now.

"Alright." Buffy rushed to make a compromise. "Will you be happier if I promised you a cup of mom's hot chocolate at the end of all this?"

"If I goin' to die, I want it to happen in a good and proper fight, luv. Not from food poisonin'."

"So does that mean you won't be joining us for dinner tonight?" In her surprise, Buffy forgot about compromising.

"Wasn't invited," Spike pointed out.

"Sure, you are. You going to help make the meal," Buffy said looking up at him hopefully.

"Really?" asked Spike doubtfully.

"Yeah," Buffy nodded her head vigorously. "Plus, now I have someone to blame it on if everything turns out awful," She added thoughtfully.

"Should've known you were up to no good, pet."

'_Ell, this is weird. Me, the Master Vamp, makin' nice with the Slayer_, Spike mused as he thought about what just happened. _How the mighty have fallen._

Except, he hadn't, really. He'd just changed. And in the back of his mind, Spike sort of liked the way things were right now.

His thoughts were interrupted as a loud crash sounded, making Spike jump slightly. Shaking his head, the vampire went off to help the erratic Slayer.

oooOoooOoooOooo

As Buffy looked for her mother's cookbook and got all the things they needed to cook, she asked Spike, "What _can _you cook, anyways?"

"Um . . . scrambled eggs and French toast?" he replied with a dubious expression.

"And . . ." Buffy prompted.

"Well, pet, cookin' really hasn't been an issue --."

"What?! You only know how _scrambled eggs and French toast_?!" Buffy looked as if she were about to begin hyperventilating. "But Dawn said you could cook!"

"Um, all the Bit said was that I made her some breakfast food once, luv. She never made me some bloody Iron Chef or somethin'."

"No, no, no! You know, when I said that _we_ would make dinner, what I really meant was _you_ could do all the dinner making, and maybe I could add some helpful comment every once in a while and . . . "

Buffy couldn't seem to stop ranting and pacing. She kept going until Spike grabbed her shoulders, making her face him.

"Alright, luv, breathe. Deep breaths. Right. You're a clever bird, you can figure it out. Think of it as some demon you want to kill or somethin'. Hasn't your watcher tol' you anythin' 'bout focusin' on the goal, or some of that rot? Think of it that way."

It took a long time to make Buffy calm down.

_Never thought I'd be a motivational speaker for a Slayer_, thought Spike after Buffy's face stopped being purple.

He gave her a few more minutes, then asked tentatively, "So . . .what are you goin' to try to cook first, pet?"

That set off a whole new round of Slayer choking and Spike soothing.

_Looks like I'm not the only one afraid of some domestic chore_, Spike reflected dryly. _It's gonna be a long afternoon._

Spike decided to take charge after convincing Buffy that food could not be any more evil than demons that plan to end the world.

"Alright, luv, let's try to make, um, steamed peas, first," Spike while examining the recipe Joyce had written.

5 whole minutes of staring produced nothing but: "Bloody 'ell, did she write this soddin' recipe in code or somethin'?!"

No one answered. Buffy was still sitting on the kitchen stool, eyes wide in shock. Spike waved his hand in front of her face, but nothing happened. He decided it would be safer to leave her like that for now.

"Right. 'First, shell the peas.' What the hell does that mean?!" Spike resorted to yelling at the cookbook, trying to relieve his frustration.

Unfortunately, the book kept silent.

Spike thought about it, decided to interpret that direction as taking the peas out of the bag. He found the frozen peas, and proceeded to rip a hole into the plastic.

He ripped too hard.

Peas went flying everywhere, and the vamp was left holding two halves of a plastic bag.

_At least they woke Slayer up_, thought Spike as he watched the little green balls bounce off Buffy's head and scare her into wakefulness. _That's a good thing. . . _

Thinking that the vegetable had grown sentient and were attacking, Buffy shook off the dazed look on her face, and surveyed the damage around her. Realizing that it was only Spike, she got off the stool, walked over to him, and whacked him in the back his head.

_. . . or, maybe not_, Spike mind continued as he rubbed at his hurting head.

The pair spent the next half hour picking peas off the floor.

Realizing that they did not have time for another trip to the market (and not really wanting to go back to that hell, anyways), Buffy gave the peas a quick rinse and proceed with the instructions.

"'Put peas in a large pot lined with cabbage leaves.' "

"Did we buy cabbages, luv?"

"Nope, look in the fridge."

Opening the refrigerator door, Spike was immediately assaulted with a rancid smell. Peering in cautiously, he observed, "You really weren't exaggeratin' when you said there wasn't any edible food in the house."

"'Course I didn't exaggerate," Buffy said crossly. "Do you think I'd go to the supermarket if I had a choice?"

"Point taken, pet."

Spike ended up throwing away most of the contents of the fridge, but in the very back he found a pack of spinach.

"Don't have any lettuce, but I found this," he said, holding up his prize.

Buffy wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, spinach. I guess we could use that, as long as we don't have to eat it. In fact, I'm probably doing Dawn a favor, getting rid of it now, so mom can't use it next week," she concluded, brightening visibly.

"Right, then. 'Ave you got the pot?"

Buffy held up a large soup pot. Spike handed her the spinach, and she filled the pot with peas and spinach as he read the next step.

"'Add one tsp. of salt and half a tsp. of sugar. Fill pot with water and cook on stove.' " said Spike. "What's a tsp.?"

"I have no idea," Buffy answered, equally puzzled. "We can use this." She held up a soup ladle she had found.

"If you're sure that's right," Spike said doubtfully.

"There're a lot of peas in here, Spike. This spoon might not even be big enough."

She dumped a ladleful of salt and sugar into the pot, filled it brimming full of tap water, and set it on the stove.

"Um, I'm pretty sure you have to turn the stove on, luv."

"Oh, 'course." Buffy turned it up to high, using the reasoning that it would cook faster if there was more fire.

Gaining confidence from her first success, Buffy eagerly asked, "What's next?"

"Hmm, let's see . . . um, mashed potatoes?"

"'K. What do you do?"

"'M guessin' you mash the potatoes, luv."

"Right. I know that," Buffy said impatiently. "But there's got to be more to it. Read the directions."

"Skin the potato . . ."

Spike trailed off as he watched Buffy slam through each drawer, looking for something. Finally, she gave up and said, "I forgot where mom keeps the knives. Wait a minute. I'll be right back."

A few seconds later, she returned holding a sword and a small ax.

"Here," she said, tossing the ax to Spike. "You can use this for potato skinning."

Spike stared at the ax in wonder. "Don't you a' least have any small knives?"

"Nope. They're all at Giles'."

Happily picking up a potato, Buffy started slicing. At least swords were something she knew about. Or so she thought . . .

By the time she was done with her share, Buffy had lost enough blood to be woozy.

The pair had been quiet while they worked, but suddenly, Buffy piped up. "Are you sure potatoes are orange on the inside? I thought they were white. And eww, it's sweet," she said as she tasted the potato.

"There were so many potatoes there, I couldn't have possibly picked up the wrong thing, pet. Maybe there's somethin' wrong with that one."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Throw it away, and mash up the rest. You can just add a lot of salt later."

"Okay..." Buffy said dubiously, slowly drawing out the word.

She got a big mixing bowl, threw all the potatoes in, and used the head of the ax to mash.

Spike watched, wincing with every hit. _Slayer's got a lotta pent up anger_, he thought. But as long as it got the job done, Spike wasn't complaining. _Last time I agree to help Nib without askin' why._

As if on cue, the teenager in question popped into the kitchen, a cheerful bounce in her step . . . that is, until she saw what Buffy was doing.

"Buff, why are you chopping up a small orange demon in that bowl? Y'know you can get normal human food at the market, right?"

Some of the blood from Buffy's cuts had dripped into the bowl, making the mess resemble a mutilated creature.

Buffy stopped for a moment, breathing heavily from her workout. "I'm making your dinner here, Dawn."

"Eeww! We're having demon for dinner?! I don't think mom will like that."

"No!" Buffy answered, annoyed. "Of course it's not a demon! It's mashed potatoes."

"Potatoes aren't orange."

Not really thinking about what Dawn just stated, Buffy turned to Spike saying triumphantly, "Ha! I told you potatoes aren't orange."

"Then what's in that bowl, luv?" Spike asked calmly.

"Yeah, what is it Dawn?" Buffy sounded for all the world like a toddler, asking its mother about something it had just discovered.

After making sure that Spike and Buffy really _had_ gotten the contents of the bowl from the supermarket, Dawn walked over, and tasted it.

"It's yams," she declared.

"Yams are a kind of potato, Bit," Spike said confidently, then less sure of himself: "Aren't they?"

"Sort 've, but yams sweet."

Buffy cuffed the back of Spike's head again. "Great, Spike. Out of all the potatoes there, you managed to grab the funny tasting ones."

"'S not like you had a better idea," Spike retorted angrily.

"Well, at least--"

"Wait, what's that smell?" Spike cut Buffy off, sniffing.

"What smell?"

Indeed, there was a burnt smell wafting from the direction of the . . .

"Ahh! No!"

Buffy forgot the argument, and rushed to rescue the pot of peas.

"Ow! Hot! Ow . . .ow."

She managed to move the pot to the counter top without burning herself too badly. As Buffy nursed her wounds, Spike lifted the pot lid and peered inside.

"Um, luv . . ."

"What!?" Buffy answered crossly.

"You're not gonna like this, but . . ."

Buffy came and looked.

"Nnnnoooooo!" She sounded as if she had just been told that her grandmother died.

All that was left of the peas and spinach was a couple of black charred lumps.

Taking the pot, she trudged over to the trashcan, and emptied it.

"Guess we won't be having peas tonight."

"I've never like them anyway."

They were too busy mourning over the dead vegetables to notice that Dawn had quietly crept away. . .

* * *

TBC

Thanks to all who review! I'm addicted!

le faye


	4. The Cooking: part 2

Sorry. I'm late again! I ignored my homework and spent all night typing this! And I got it done! Happy reading!

For disclaimers, rating, etc. see chapter 1.

**AnDrEwSrObOt:** Since they're not natural blondes, the bleach and the dye must have seeped into their brain at some point. (smiles) Great that you love it!

**Moluvsnumber17**: Yay! You like it!

**spuffyfan-1: **Sorry. I love spuffiness as much as the next person, but no smoochies in here. There's Spuffy friendship, though.

**Gigil3**: Hope you like this next one!

**Mita427**: (wide smile) You'll just have to read and see what happens. Dun dun DUN!

**Jobe**: Is this funny enough? Lol!

**Lilmisscookiemonster**: Read on to see what horrors befall our poor veggies next! (hehe)

**DramaQueen77**: I love BS romance, but this story's just for laughs. I hope you still like, though.

* * *

"Well, we don't really _need_ the peas, do we?" Buffy reasoned as she finished dumping the unrecognizably charred mess into the trashcan. "This way, everyone will have more room for dessert."

She brightened visibly at that thought.

"Right. Keep tellin' yourself that," Spike drawled.

"Hey! Glass houses, mister!" Buffy snapped. "You're not doing any better than I am."

"I'm not the one who burned the peas, luv."

"Don't call me that! And, you didn't unburn them."

"What?! How can you unburn something?"

"Argh! Forget it! There's still a bunch of other stuff we have to make. Like . . . apple pie."

Spike shook his head. Some times, he wondered why he even bothered. Only the thoughts of Joyce and Nibblet kept him from leaving right now. Yup, that was it. There was no other reason why he wasn't already out the door.

"Helloooo! Earth to Spike."

Buffy waved her hand in front of Spike's face. She seemed calmer than before.

'_Ell, Slayer's mood-swingy right now._

Spike decided to let it drop. He squared his shoulders, and prepared himself for more torture.

"'K. First, place pie crust in pie tin. Spike, did we buy any pie crust?"

"Thought you said it had to be home made."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Fine. There's some flour in that cabinet. And here's a tin."

Spike took the flour, poured some into the tin, and proceeded to smash the flour pile flat with a rolling pin.

The kitchen became enveloped in a dusty white cloud, and Buffy and Spike coughed for a good five minutes before the air cleared.

You could see that they now looked like a pair of haggard ghosts; frightening enough to even scare the most seasoned of Sunnydale residents.

But Buffy ignored her current state, busy staring at Spike's cracked "pie crust" in wonder. "I thought it's supposed to be in one solid piece."

"It melts when it baked, pet," he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Really?" She looked like she was about to disagree for a moment, but then, "ok, then. Next, apples."

"They're in the bag."

Buffy pulled our a couple of apples. "Should we mash them, or cut them up."

"I remember that they were cut into slices."

"Remember?"

"From when I was human, Slayer."

"Don't tell me, I don't need to know."

Spike got the ax, and chopped apart the apples - skin, seed, and all.

While he was doing this, Buffy glanced at the clock.

"Oh, my god! They're coming in less than 2 hours!" Buffy thought fast. "Spike, you make the apple pie, and I . . ." she glanced around. "I'll finish the mashed potatoes."

"Why do I 'ave ta make the pie?" Spike whined crossly.

"_Because_. You remember . . . stuff about them."

Spike grumbled, but didn't argue.

By now, he had finished slicing the apples. And although they looked thoroughly mutilated, Spike figured that no one would care after he put the pieces into the pie.

He did so, and went to look for the spices to add to his pie.

"Where does your mum keep the spices, pet?"

"In that cabinet," Buffy answered distractedly, waving her had in a vague direction.

Spike glanced at her, and saw that she had resumed her potato – or, rather, yam – bashing. He stifled a laugh at the sight of the Slayer beating up those poor veggies.

"Oh, hey, what do I do about the sweet taste?" Buffy asked, referring to the yams.

"The ya --"

"Shush! Don't say it! They're potatoes!"

"They're yams, luv."

"I like living in my land of denial."

Spike gave a sigh and eye roll. "Add salt."

"Salt?"

"Salt's salty, right?"

"Of course salt's salty!"

"Right. So, it'll make the yams salty, too."

"If you say so. . ."

"'Course I'm right, pet. Hey, weren't you supposed to cook 'em before you mashed 'em?"

"Cook?" Buffy gave a puzzled frown.

"Cook," Spike said firmly. You don't eat raw yams, do you?"

"No, of course I don't eat raw _potatoes_." Buffy gave a meaningful glare.

Spike smirked and ignored her. "So cook 'em."

"How do I do that? They're already mashed."

Spike thought for a moment. "Microwave! Microwave it."

"Hmm . . ok!" Buffy opened the saltshaker cap and poured all the contents into her bowl of orange goo.

Spike, pleased with him for being the one with all the answers – for once, went back to his spice search.

After a while, he managed to pull out a small jar of red stuff, and a couple jars of brown and black stuff. Since he didn't really fancy tasting them to see if they're the right spices, he decided at least their colors were good, and poured all the jars into his pie.

Spike paused and thought about what he needed next. Deciding to add a little water (to help the crust melt faster), he did just that, and added another thick layer of flour dust to cover the top of his pie.

The end result was a magnificent . . .ly sloppy, gooey mess. Spike figured that pies were baked before they would look at least edible.

By now, Buffy had also finished her mashed potatoes. Promptly forgetting them, she came over to look at what Spike had done.

"Are you done with the pie?" Buffy wrinkled her nose.

"Eww. That looks gross. I would eat it."

"That's because you have to bake it first, luv," Spike said, as if he were explaining something to a kindergartener. "Let's leave it here for now, and start on the turkey. Your mum has a recipe for that, right?"

"Um, yeah. Here it is." Buffy held up another index card.

Spike took it, and scanned the contents. "Take tukey . . . stuffing . . . metal pan . . ." he mumbled the instructions under his breath. And then . . . " BLOODY 'ELL! FIVE HOURS!"

Like a timed bomb exploding, just as it finished the countdown.

Buffy snapped to attention immediately. "Five hours! What do you mean, five hours?! Five hours what?!" She became panicky.

"It takes five soddin' hours to cook the soddin' chicken, that's what!"

"It's a turkey!" The new monkey wrench in their plan was too much for Buffy to cope for.

"Focus on what's important 'ere, luv!"

"Ok, ok," Buffy wracked her brains for solutions. "What if . . . we turned the oven up to the highest firepower? If it's hotter, it'll cook faster!"

Spike thought about it. "Hey, that might jus' work!"

"'K. So hurry!"

Slayer and vamp had never worked faster in their lives. They rushed around the kitchen, randomly stuffing things into the turkey, and slathering it in the first wet substance they could find (which happened to be maple syrup they mistook for turkey sauce).

The pair stood back proudly to admire their handy work. Unidentifiable things were sticking out of the poor bird at odd angles, and somehow, there was a piece of broken bone poking out of the breast meat.

But, parents are blind to the faults of their children, and creators oblivious to the shortcomings of their art.

"It looks perfect, luv. Now pop it in the oven!"

"Wait, what about your pie? That has to be baked, too."

"Um, we'll put it in with the bird."

"Do you have an issue the word turkey?"

"Guess your feeling better."

"Why d'you say that?" Buffy eyed him suspiciously.

"Cause, hey, you're makin' not-so-funny comments again."

And he walked off to see to the turkey and pie before Buffy could answer.

"'K. So the pie and the turkey are in the oven, we've set up the bought cranberries and dinner rolls, the peas are dead --"

Buffy winced. "Don't remind me."

"So, what do we have left to do?"

"Um, mashed potatoes. And, someone has to set the table."

The thought of dealing with more food made Spike want to cry (yes, Spike and cry, together!) so he said, "Alright, I'll set things up, and you can finish the yams."

"_Potatoes_!"

All Spike did was smirk.

Buffy shook her head and grabbed the bowl of mashed taters, setting it in the microwave. "Spike, how long should I set the timing for?"

"Hmm, dunno, pet. 10 minutes?"

"Yeah, that sounds right." Buffy happily punched in the digits and started the microwave.

Suddenly, an exploding noise came from the oven, followed by a charred smell. Something that was becoming very familiar to Buffy.

"Not again!" she groaned.

Upon opening the oven door, Buffy found that the apple pie had exploded, and now the oven and the turkey were covered in apple goo.

Spike and Dawn rushed in.

"Whoa, Buff, what happened?" Dawn exclaimed.

"_Spike's_ apple pie exploded." Buffy shot him a death glare.

"'Ey! It wasn't me who turned up the oven heat."

"Well, if --"

"Stop it! You two are adults, so stop bickering!" Dawn once again shocked the pair into silence. "Now, _I'll_ set the table, and you and Spike figure out what to do about the exploding apple pie . . ."

The mashed yams chose that moment to burst, too, and the microwave suddenly died.

". . . and apparently whatever's in the microwave."

She left Spike and Buffy staring at the mess in the kitchen.

* * *

TBC

Feedback is shiny, and pretty, and wonderful, and . . .well, you get the point. Review!

le faye


	5. The Ending

Well, folks, I think we reached the end of our journey. I did tell you this was a short pointless fic, right? (if I didn't, I'm telling you now) I hope y'all like my ending! Thanks to all those more silent people who read and liked my story. And a bigger thank you to all reviewers! The thoughts and comments you sent made me so happy!

**Squirly4spike**: Lol! Thanks! I loved the exploding pie, too! But see what happens next . . .

**Mita427**: Thanks giving such great support! I glad you laughed!

**Melanie**: Yay! You found my story and you liked it!

**Gigil3**: Thank you SO much for leaving me a pretty review after every chap I've written! I hope you like the ending!

**Jobe**: Thanks for sticking with the story even after you knew there was no spuffiness. And you left me a nice review after every chapter. I bake you cookies!

**Iluvglorfindel**: I'm sorry. I haven't seen all the BtVS episodes. But I like Buffy this way for this fic. Call it alternate reality if you want.

**Slayer3**: (happy smile) Glad you liked it!

**lilmisscookiemonster:** I do sympathize with the vegetables and turkey, but it had to happen.

* * *

"Well, we could always have messy cobbler," Spike suggested, eying the former apple pie.

"Sure, why not," said Buffy resignedly. She was too tired to argue anymore. And to think she thought this would be easy at the beginning of the day!

Buffy took the ruined pie out of the oven, and let the turkey continue baking, regardless of the exploded apples.

Tentatively, she took a spoon and tasted a bit of the apple filling. Buffy immediately choked, face turning red as she rushed to the sink, rinsing out her mouth.

"Hey, now!" Spike said indignantly. "It can't be all that bad!"

Determined to prove his point, he took an even bigger spoonful, and immediately regretted his decision.

He joined the Slayer at the sink.

It turned out that the red bottle of spice Spike took was not cinnamon. It was Cajun. Hot. Pepper. Cajun. And Spike had added the whole container into the pie.

Once they recovered, the pie joined the peas in the trash.

"You have ice cream, right? Serve that."

Buffy managed to choke out, "Don't talk to me now. I'm mad at you."

Spike glared, but didn't answer.

Terrified by what she would find (but thinking that nothing could surprise her anymore), Buffy got the microwave door open.

She didn't even consider trying to salvage the yams.

The inside of the microwave was thickly covered in melted yams, and the plastic bowl Buffy kept the yams in had melted.

Another thing, into the trash.

"Now all we have is a turkey, some rolls, and some fruit," Buffy said worriedly.

She spoke too soon. Another bang came from the oven.

Dawn poked her head in. "Are you guys cooking, or running a firework factory here?"

"Go. Away. Dawn."

Thankfully, the teenager recognized that tone of voice, and quickly left.

Practically all that was left of the turkey was a pile of ash.

They were down to the last two things: bread and cranberries. Things that, happily, even Buffy and Spike could not manage to ruin. Especially since it ended up being Dawn who prepared the food.

"I reckon even the Pilgrims had more than this in their firs' winter," Spike stated.

The trio stared at the sadly Spartan table, adorned only by the two lonely dishes in the center.

Buffy grabbed Spike's collar, pulling him back as he tried to sneak off. "Nuh-uh. You're helping me fix this."

"Well, wha' can we do? It's too late for take-out and --"

The doorbell rang.

"Ahhh!" with a whispered scream, Buffy trudged off to answer it.

Upon opening the door, she found Willow and Tara . . . bearing wonderful-smelling, hot, steamy plates of food!

"Hey, Buffy!" greeted the redhead while Tara smiled shyly in the background.

"H-h-hi." Buffy was too dazed to manage more than that.

She invited them in, but before she got the chance to ask the Wiccans about the food, the bell rang again.

"You better like this food. It cost me some of my valuable money," was Anya's ways of greeting her, while holding out a plate of food.

"Hon, remember our talk the other day about tact?" Xander smiled patiently. Then, turning to Buffy: "Hey, Buff. I hope we're not too late."

"No, of course not. Come in." She was still shocked by her luck.

As they walked to the dining room, Buffy asked Xander, "So, how did you know to bring some food?"

Xander looked puzzled. "Well, Dawnie called us this afternoon, and said that you were having some kitchen trouble, and you wanted us to bring something."

"Wait. What? Dawn?"

"Yeah, Dawn. Is something wrong?"

"No, no just . . ." Buffy trailed off as she finally figured out what happened.

Once in the dining room, Buffy said, "Dawn . . ."

"Yeah, sis?" Dawn smiled sweetly.

"You –Did you --"

"Yup, don't you love me?"

"Wait, Dawn told all your Scoobies to bring food?" Spike asked incredulously as he caught on.

"Hey! What's Captain Peroxide doing here?" Xander said as he finally noticed Spike.

"'Ey--"

"Stop!" Buffy cut in. "You're both guests tonight, so call a truce for now! Agreed?"

No one dared argue with her.

"Yeah, alright."

"Fine."

"Right. Back to Dawn," continued Buffy. "You could've at least told me 'bout what you did so I wouldn't have been so stressed out."

"It was more fun to watch you suffer," the teen said wickedly. "Plus, I got enough blackmail pictures from this afternoon to last me a lifetime!"

Thankfully, the bell rang again, saving Dawn from being hurt by either Spike or Buffy.

This time, it was Giles and Joyce, who had both arrived at the house at the same time.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Buffy!"

"Hey, Buffy. Help me with this turkey, will you?"

And, lo and behold, Joyce had the Thanksgiving turkey!

"Hi, Giles! Mom! How did you know to bring a turkey?" Buffy asked in amazement as she took the wonderfully perfect turkey from her mom.

_Could everyone but me see how badly the dinner-making was going to go?!_

Joyce smiled. "Well, Buffy, I love you dearly, but you have been my daughter for 20 years, and I know by now, that cooking . . .well, it's just not one of your strengths."

This last comment was heard by all the guests, who promptly burst out laughing.

oOoOoOoOo

So, it came to pass that Thanksgiving in the Summers' house was a happy event this year.

The mighty Slayer, her wise Watcher, and her loyal Scoobies were able to enjoy a day without apocalypses.

The tradition of feasting with the family was not broken, and the happy friends laughed the night away.

Young Dawn did a good deed and helped herself in her future evil enterprises in the same day.

And finally, our brave vampire, Spike, who withstood the tortures of home cooking for his beloved Slayer and Bit: He eventually received his cup of hot chocolate, and, amazingly, a 'thank you' from the Slayer! That night he went home a happy vamp.

But, after the festivities, when the time for rest had come, Joyce entered the kitchen of her home, and thought, _It looks like a bomb exploded in here!_

Ah, Joyce, if only you knew.

The End

* * *

Thanks again, everyone! I hope you enjoyed! If you have any last comments to make, you know what to do . . . .

le faye


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